


Domesticity

by kassandra_divina_trevelyan



Series: Turning the Page [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassandra_divina_trevelyan/pseuds/kassandra_divina_trevelyan
Summary: Steve Rogers is by no means a good cook. But for his pregnant wife, Helena, he will try his best.*PART OF THE SOLSTICE UNIVERSE* *FEATURES ORIGINAL CHARACTER*
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Turning the Page [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696246
Kudos: 7





	Domesticity

It was a Sunday morning, the best day of the week. A lazy Sunday morning in the Rogers household consisted of sleeping in by the three (and soon to be four) occupants of the house followed by a delicious breakfast whipped up by Helena, and family bonding time—unless there was a mission from SHIELD or immediate danger in need of avenging. 

  
However, the Sunday routine was interrupted when an abrupt crash from somewhere within the house sent Helena's eyes flying open. She nearly thought she hallucinated it until she realized Steve's side of the bed was empty. She blindly felt with her hand first and craned her neck awkwardly to her shoulder to view. His part of the bed, where she would usually find her husband asleep or waiting for her to wake-up should she need anything, was empty, and the warm spot where he slept was fading in heat. 

Not wanting to mistakenly ignore the crash, Helena knew she needed to get up. But being seven months pregnant with a swollen, protruding belly made that a physically demanding task, even for her. She was carrying the child of a super-soldier and a demigoddess inside of her, which affected her greater than most mortal pregnancies. Helena gasped as she reached above her head and gripped the iron bar of the headboard parallel to her head. Helena patiently shifted her knees in a choppy, shuffling motion upward toward her belly with a careful focus to avoid ramming her knees up into her stomach. When her knees as close to the underside of her stomach, Helena slowly pushed her knees to the edge of the bed while her free arm pushed herself up into a seated position. She dangled her legs over the side of the bed and clutched at her head, taking a moment to regulate her breathing to keep from falling under a dizzy spell. 

  
The moment she was on her feet, Helena pressed her back flat against the wall and caught her breath. She held her hand out and curled her hand into a fist, distracted by her heartbeat wildly wailing in her ears, a deadly razor-sharp light blade materializing from nothing into her closed fist. Her eyes flashed in gold, and she, although not supposed to fight in her condition, knew that she would rather die before anyone laid a hand on her family. 

  
Helena, with stealth in mind, quietly tiptoed into the hallway from her and Steve's room and swiftly made her way to Grant's bedroom without so much as a sound. Her heart stopped when she noticed the door ajar and her son nowhere to be found. She heard more rustling coming from downstairs in the general location of the kitchen, and that became her next target. She sidled along the wall for as long as she could up until reaching the stairs. She avoided the stairs that were creaky but gripped onto the railing under a stable grip, afraid of tumbling down the stairs. She heard the snippets of noise—metal clanging, hushed voices—growing louder and louder as she approached the kitchen and her stomach twisted into tightly-wound knots. Helena tended to be an anxious person as is, and the possibility of facing a break-in while seven months along in her pregnancy terrified her beyond words. Exhaling forcefully, Helena rushed into the kitchen with her dagger prepared and her adrenaline on high, fully expecting a burglar or someone ransacking her kitchen. 

  
Helena blinked when she saw Steve and Grant with their backs facing her and standing around the stove. The commotion was likely from the pans sizzling on the stovetop. Helena lowered the dagger and dissolved it back into the air from which it came. She placed her hand over her heart and caught her breath, recovering from the scare she received. She lifted her head and sniffed at the air to the smell of something burnt. 

  
"Mommy!" Grant greeted when he looked over his dad's broad shoulder to see his mom standing in the kitchen and watching them, blissfully unaware of the relief racing through her mind. Steve, hearing his son's greeting, diverted his eyes from the stove and turned to face his pregnant wife. He wore a charming grin and his eyes were alight with excitement.   
"What's all this?" Helena asked, taking in the scene with amusement twinkling in her eyes and relief taking over where panic once consumed her. Steve expertly balanced Grant on his hip in the way he saw Helena do many a time, set the greasy spatula on the countertop, and ran his fingers through his messy bedhead. He still wore his pajamas of a white tank top and loose grey sweats—a look that Helena found immensely sexy but was so Steve.

  
"Grant and I were planning a surprise breakfast in bed of pancakes and your favorite omelet because Mommy deserved something nice for being the greatest, weren't we buddy?" Steve grinned down at his son in his arms, intently making grabby hands toward Helena. He turned back to his wife, who drew her long hair up into a ponytail and adjusted the oversized sweatshirt that belonged to Steve around her swollen baby bump. Her eyes and smile were warm as she took Grant into her arms and settled the excitable toddler on her hip, pressing a motherly kiss to her son's forehead. When he giggled, Helena's smile somehow got even brighter. _She is the beauty who could outshine the sun_ , Steve mused happily as he watched Grant erupt in laughter because Helena blew a raspberry against his cheek. He was distracted by the sight that he nearly burned the cheesy omelet for the second time that morning, rescuing the omelet from charring too much. 

  
He mumbled a curse under his breath and moved the omelet around the pan while Helena handled Grant, allowing him to focus on the food. Before, he was spending too much time being distracted by the unruly mop of brunette hair and the eyes that mirrored his with that specific hue of blue. 

  
"Let me help you with that," Helena remarked when she came back from pouring Grant a small bowl of Cheerios and some milk in a spill-proof sippy cup. Steve heard the excited babbling of his son and glanced over to see Grant munching on small handfuls of Cheerios and talking animatedly to the air. Steve chuckled and conceded the spatula in his hand to her as she was the master of the kitchen. Helena smoothly saved the omelet from the brink of ruin by moving it around the pan and inhaled the favorite scent of ham, cheese, egg, and spinach wafting from the pan. She was so hungry but hardly realized it before the adrenaline spike slowly dwindling down alerted her to the fact that she was hungry, and her unborn daughter was too. The little bugger had a foot jammed up into Helena's ribs, which made her slightly glad that she wasn't playing soccer with her bladder like she tended to do. She glanced at the mishappen chocolate pancakes with a small smile fighting onto her lips. The chocolate chip pancakes were her father's old recipe and a favorite of hers whenever she felt down. She poked them with her spatula and sighed to see that they were mostly firmed and cooked correctly. 

  
That was half of the meal successful, so she would pick up the other half. 

  
"I love you so much, but maybe you should leave the cooking to me." Helena teased Steve. She knew that it was born with good intentions, and she could never be mad at Steve for doing something so thoughtful. Besides, he was too cute to stay mad at. She gave him an A for effort and the executive decision that she would sign them up for some couple cooking classes when someone could babysit the kids. 

  
"Yes ma'am," Steve agreed and wrapped his arms around her waist, mindful of her stomach. One of his hands soothingly rubbed along the curve of her stomach and felt a jolt against his hand—his daughter kicking from within there. "Hey there, little lady. Please be nice to your mom in there. She might be the strongest lady I know, but you might have inherited our super strength." Steve whispered to Helena's belly, which made her laugh. Surprisingly, Steve's firm chiding translated to their daughter because she retracted her foot from Helena's ribs and settled down from her usual antics of wiggling around. 

  
"Oh, she is so going to be a daddy's girl." Helena mused aloud as she split the omelet in half for her and Steve. She put one half on a plate and picked up three pancakes, handing the full plate to Steve. Steve took the plate, set it down on the counter beside him, and turned off the stove before he pulled Helena into a kiss. A content sigh escaped Helena's lips when his hands cupped her face and his thumb brushed along her cheek, the gentle caress stirring a series of butterflies up and around her ribcage. She swore that she fell in love with this man a little more every day.   
"You think so? I am sure that she is going to adore her mother more." Steve remarked when he pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead against Helena's, angling himself at a slight downward angle to make up the minute height difference between them. His baby blue eyes were staring deep into her eyes, a sharp and breathtaking cyan color. Helena laughed, and she closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush with a dusting of pink. 

  
"Flatterer." She joked and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She filled up her plate with the remaining pancakes and her half of the omelet and laced her free hand with Steve's as the two sat at the table with their son. Sundays were back to their regularly scheduled domesticity. 


End file.
